


Giant Problems

by Miss_sunfire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Creature Hermione Granger, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Molly Weasley Bashing, Molly the justnomil, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-War, Pregnant Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Bashing, giant hermione granger, vampire!Bellatrix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-01-29 03:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_sunfire/pseuds/Miss_sunfire
Summary: The changes were small...at least to start. Things that were easy to overlook and wave away. After all, Hermione’s body had gone through a lot. Tracking every small change to her person and her psyche was far, far too much work.Then she realized one day that she was 7 feet tall, buff as fuck and about to divorce her manchild of a husband....and what’s this about a mysterious dark haired beauty that’s been banished to France for the last couple decades?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley (past)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 183





	1. Up Shit Creak Without a Paddle

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all
> 
> So as I was saying, I'm not really writing nano this year, but I wanted to take the excuse to start a bit of a new project and push myself to make some good progress on it. And thus this fic was born.
> 
> Some notes: This is all post war with a slightly different timeline. The largest part of it is that for...reasons...Bellatrix avoided both wizarding wars and has been slumming it in France for a few decades. Canon is still mostly the same, but different players may have stood in for her parts. 
> 
> Otherwise I think I'll let the story speak for itself.

* * *

The changes were small...at least to start. Things that were easy to overlook and wave away. After all, Hermione’s body had gone through a lot. Tracking every small change to her person and her psyche was far, far too much work. 

The death eaters taking over the ministry. Stress and starvation as the golden trio hunted for endless mcguffins to kill the Dark Lord. Torture at the manor. Lucius’s hands on her, his sharp knife carving _those_ horrible, horrible words on her. War and battle. Death, so much death. 

Victory! 

Endless nightmares. Jumping at shadows. Back at Hogwarts, drowning in stress to finish her NEWT’s. Feeling every moment like she was in a haze swimming between horrid dreaming and reality. Graduation. Pride, undercut by the all encompassing loneliness of the void of her parents. A desperate failure of a search for a cure, followed up by a job at the department of mysteries. Burying herself in work. She’s fine, really, stop asking. 

Weekends soaked in firewhiskey. Bad decisions leading to waking up in bed with Ron, again and again. Even though she promised herself that whatever adrenaline high trauma bond they’d built was fleeting and passionless. She knew it was a bad idea. At the end of the day, what did they actually have in common? They fought like cats and dogs over the stupidest shit, and while he wasn’t...bad to look at, she wasn’t really that crazy into him. Still, she ached to feel not quite so terribly _alone._ Even in busy rooms those who hadn’t lived it, hadn’t seen it…

Well, did they really even understand? 

Ron understood. At least more than most people. It helped. To have a connection to her world from before. To have a friend, and well, if they had to have sex it wasn’t...wasn’t awful. 

Healing slowly. Getting sober, even more slowly. Stints in and out of rehab. Hanging out at the Burrow more and more. Not wanting to be alone but not getting any younger. Really dear, I’ve known you and our Ronnie just need to talk some more. You can work it out, I know it. You know, there are real reasons to settle down early, you wouldn’t want to be risking your health by having kids too late would you. When are better prospects really going to come by for someone in your unique position? You know how people feel about muggleborns, even after the war. I know you’re all big shot war heroes but we all have to keep grounded somehow. 

All that said, it probably shouldn’t have been quite so surprising that Hermione had lost track of how her body was growing and changing somewhere along the line. 

It started with her favorite maroon jumper all of a sudden feeling a bit tight across the chest, and maybe riding up a bit. Nothing too major, just enough to expose a bit more of her midriff. She wrote it off though, despite the garment fitting her like a glove since she was 16. After all, it was probably that new washing machine she and Ron had bought when they moved in together. Around the time when they decided to maybe try to start a family. It must have just shrunk.

Plus, hey, Ron appreciated all the extra skin she was showing. Practically drooled all over it. That’s got to count for something right? 

Then the next week she noticed how her jeans were all painfully tight and riding up around her ankles. Both too short and too small. Miffed, she grumbled her way down to the shop to replace them with the next size up. Who knows, she’d finally started getting stable food again, now that she was sober, well employed and doing a much better job of adulting at 24. Maybe her curves were just filling out to where they should be. Draco had even started to comment happily on how much healthier she was looking these days. Even her hair was in much better health days. Very shiny and soft, even if it was still a riotous mass of brunette curls. 

To the eternal consternation and jealousy of Ron, Draco and her had become good friends since the war. They ended up working in the same lab at the department of mysteries. Quickly this morphed into research partners who weren’t particularly close but were very effective at collaborating when they put their history aside. Eventually though they’ evolved to drinking, and then even later, rehab buddies. He kept her stable and committed, especially when her fingers got twitchy for the bottle after all the times Ron would slink into bed stinking of rotgut and perfume. 

Being a famous auror was apparently a popular move for him. 

What was less easy to pass off were the behavioral changes. She just had so much _energy_ now. Her muscles always felt like they were twitching with power and the need to just fucking _move_. If she didn’t do something active every day or two she found she absolutely couldn’t focus at work. Or even just while reading or relaxing at home. In a way the lonely bookworm had never really felt before. 

She took to jogging. Just around the park at first. Then she mapped out a root through the city where she could go until she got tired and taking the underground back. Eventually even that wasn’t quite enough and she started ending her evening runs at a little 24 hour gym to burn off the rest. She spent hours curling irons, doing squats and building up her deadlifts. She treated fitness like she did any other subject worthy of research: by breaking it down methodically and reading about all its component parts. Diet, form, amount of activity, types of activity and ways to balance out how much each muscle group got exercised and so on. 

Within the year the results started to get more and more visible.While she was a bookworm, she used to be fairly active in the summers. Going hiking, skiing or otherwise just hanging out with her dad. Back then she never really gained any visible muscle. Now though, her lithe arms and shoulders were filling out, curling with densely packed muscles. The slight paunch she’d developed on her belly from too many years bent over a desk and too many empty beer calories turned to a steely six pack. Even her thighs bulked out, strong and covered in thick muscle that carried her around the city like a breeze. Where before she’d be huffing and puffing by the time she got around the park, now she easily ran a marathon at least once a month. 

Unfortunately, her and Ron’s attempts to get pregnant were much less successful. Molly’s may incessantly nag them about it but Hermione remained stubbornly unbred. Despite her newfound energy pushing her towards the task. Whereas before she’d always sort of had a vague appreciation of sex as a somewhat pleasant thing that other people cared more about, now though, now…

She loved it. Thought every day about it at least once or twice. Eagerly anticipated the next time she and Ron could get together, even if was much less frequent than she’d like. He didn’t like her being needy after all, and they were both so busy. 

She made time. He...didn’t nearly as much. 

Hermione did feel a bit guilty about fantasizing about Bill and Fleur when she and Ron did finally manage to be in the same room together though. It wasn’t her fault! It was just, being there with Ron, fully present in the moment was...missing something. Some je ne sais quoi that just made it disappointing if she didn’t add that little spice. It wasn’t like Ron would put out the effort to go down on her either, so she had to pull a bit more of the weight. It was harmless. She had enough self respect to know nothing would ever come of it, and wasn’t a homewrecker. Every couple had their challenges and compromises. It was totally harmless and innocuous. 

Right?

Her wallet, however, was definitely harmed as the weeks and months went by. The larger size of clothes she’d picked up when this all started now no longer fit her. Then the bigger size after that was still too small. Then the size after even that was too small. Eventually all the pretty dresses and jumpers she’d find on the rack at muggle stores were just...too small. She resorted to custom shops and stores on the magical side of london. Often she could find things with magical enhancements to adjust the sizing as she kept growing, getting taller and taller. Even still, most of the stuff that would actually fit her right ended up being menswear. 

Clothes for bigger humans were so rarely made with women in mind after all. 

As frustrating as it was for her body to be changing so drastically without her choice or input, there wasn’t anything really to do about it. She was healthy. Incredibly healthy actually, better than she’d been basically ever. She had tons of energy to pour into her work and she kept nicely toned and fit. The only real complaint she had was about having to change up her wardrobe so much. She missed her pretty clothes, but that was just silly vanity. 

After all, while she’d had her reservations, the stubborn Gryffindor had actually given the new look a chance. Having something that actually fit her and was comfortable was too great a lure to pass up. Within a few weeks she’d practically converted her entire wardrobe to T-Shirts, flannels, soft leather jackets and thick boots. Maybe a few nice comfy jumpers for when she was feeling casual and of course an entire section devoted to work out gear. She’d never been so happy that sports bra’s existed when she’d realized she’d gone up a cup size or two. Jogging with the girls smacking her in the chin was _not_ her idea of a relaxing afternoon.

Frankly, she fucking loved it. So fucking comfortable. Plus basically everything she owned had fucking _pockets!_ It was magic! The _best_ kind. 

So here Hermione was, buzzing with excitement probably about two months after all the changes to her body had started to taper off and stabilize. The heels of her big black riding boots were clacking as she made her way down the hall and into the flat she shared with Ron. She suppressed a sigh she leaned down to avoid hitting her head when she unlocked the door and ducked inside. Despite the lovely way her creamy calfskin jacket draped over her shoulders, fitting her 7 foot tall, well muscled body into the cramped muggle flat was always a challenge. 

Hermione took a moment to shuck her big black boots off and drop off her gym bag before padding further into the apartment. Well, more clomp around. It wasn’t like she was exactly stealthy anymore. She simply had too much weight (all of it muscle, thank you very much!) to pad around soft as a mouse. She found Ron on the couch, passed out with a half empty bottle of ogden’s finest cradled on his chest. Oblivious even to the racket she was making at 2pm on a saturday after coming home from a long, hard, fantastic workout and lunch with Dray. One where she’d gotten to squeal about the good news finally coming true!

She suppressed a sigh at the sorry state of her husband. She’d have to talk with him about his behavior again, especially with a little one on the way. Every couple had their challenges of course, they just had to work this one out. They still had time, and she’d make sure their little one would grow up safe and loved. Even if she had to beat it’s father over the head to get his head on straight. She’d been doing it since they were 11 after all. 

With a mischievous smirk the witch flicked her wrist to drop her wand from it’s holster into her hand. Despite all these years since the war, she could never make herself leave the house without being properly armed. Then with all the bratty grace learned from years of being Dray’s best post-war friend, she flicked her wand through a quick aguamenti and hosed off her sad sack of a husband with a spray of freezing cold water. 

“Oi! What the bloody fuck woman!” Shouted a sputtering, red-faced Ron. 

“Husband mine, we need to have a bit of a chat. Get the fuck up, have a shower and take a hangover potion.” Hermione huffed out, suppressing a smirk at the irked expression on the dripping redhead’s face. 

Ron did however, eventually acquiesce. Heaving a great put upon sigh he levered himself up and stumbled down the hall. The shorter man barely came up to the top of her shoulders as he cursed and grumbled his way through the flat. Hermione winced at a loud aggravated bang that rattled along the walls as he slammed his fist on the wall before he disappeared into the bathroom. Oh well, not like she couldn’t fix the wedding photo he’d knocked to the ground with a quick reparo. 

Feeling her restless nerves bouncing away under her skin, the woman padded off to the kitchen to fry up some rashers, cheesy eggs, sausage and toast for breakfast. She usually wouldn’t usually indulge in the high fat meal, but she knew Ron’s habits, and after a hard night of drinking nothing else would do. Sleeping dragons didn’t need to be poked after all, and there was news to celebrate anyway. Besides, protein wasn’t bad, even though she’d usually go for something leaner. 

Hermione had just finished plating everything up when her husband stumbled his way in and collapsed into a seat at the kitchen table. Loud exaggerated groans filled the small space as she shoved greasy food and coffee underneath his nose. Clucking at the clearly forgotten hangover potion part of the equation, she moved from fixing her tea to rummage around in their medicine cabinet for one. 

“Bloody hell, quiet the fuck up. I’ve got a headache and I don’t need you stomping about creating a racket.” Ron said with a pitiful groan. 

Hermione clucked again. 

“Well, excuse me for getting the bloody potion to fix that. This is just how I cunting walk.” The brunette witch grumbled back as she deposited the vial in front of the insufferable man. Ron took a few moments to stare and squint at the label, eyes full of resentful distrust. She rolled her eyes and tucked into her own meal before he eventually bottomed the potion. 

“Ugh, tastes like the dog’s breakfast. Can’t you fix that Miney? What’s the point of all that fancy pants research shit if you can’t make one lousy potion not taste like shite.” Ron continued complaining, even as the potion did it’s swift work to make his eyes not quite so droopy and pain filled.

“Oh sure sure. Potion taste is clearly the most important question of our time. One the department of mysteries devotes endless resources to finally solving.” Hermione replied with an exaggerated eye roll. Though she did flinch back a step at the vicious glare she got for the sass. 

Really, you’d think he’d have learned to deal with loud women living with his mother. Oh well, Hermione merely gave a shrug and let the conversation lapse into awkward silence.

Returning to their meals, Hermione picked away at her food, feeling some of her nerves rise up again. The feeling ran through her too tight feeling skin, making her jitter and fiddle away with her food. It was really a bit odd. Normally she was the fine, confident, strong woman she’d grown (trained herself) into. Hell, Hermione was essentially a decorated soldier that faced down Voldemort on the final battle. That survived torture at Lucius Malfoy’s hands. That went on to present her quite controversial thesis in front of a board of old white academic wizards, all of which were sure of her intellectual inferiority. Convinced them she knew her shit and was worthy of their hard fought respect. 

She could tell her bloody husband she was pregnant. 

“Merlin Miney, sit fucking still. Your jittering the goddamn table like a toddler.” Ron spat, pulling Hermione from her anxious spiral. 

“Sorry.” Hermione said quickly, feeling a deep flush run it’s way up her cheeks. She hated the way her newfound energy made stillness so impossible. She always had to be doing something, moving, planning, thinking, fiddling. The feeling only got worse at the grumbled curse Ron huffed under his breath as he finished off the last of his breakfast. 

“Well? Spit it out?! Whatever the fuck it is that’s got you in a snit and waking me the fuck up at ass o’clock in the morning.” The redhead growled. 

Suddenly Hermione’s mouth felt dry as a desert. She opened her mouth to speak and only an embarrassing squeak came out. Her flush only got worse as he kept glaring. 

“I-I’m” Hermione started, voice quavering. 

“Yes? Any time now?” Ron prompted. 

How should she say this? Is there a way to ease into this type of thing? They’d been talking about trying for so long already, but, well...things hadn’t necessarily been the best the last few months. They hadn’t talked nearly as much beyond occasionally jumping into bed together. She was just so busy and Ron, well, he was just away all the time. At one fancy formal ministry function or the other. That she’d been...more and more often not invited to. Or the invitations would be snatched from her hand with a mumbled “that just wouldn’t be your thing Miney.” It’s not like she really wanted to wine and dine the rich and powerful that still looked down on her muggleborn status. Regardless, she wanted to back up Harry and Shacklebolt’s reforms of the ministry was important. It was just…

Awkward, it was awkward. And she didn’t know the most graceful way to bring it up again. Knowing Ron he probably didn’t even remember their talks and agreement to try for a family a few months ago. 

“I’m pregnant!” Someone said.

Oh, right, that was her. Guess blurting it out in a fit of anxious abandon works. Bollocks. 

Ron started and fell off his chair in a mighty crash. Yet more violent and colorful curses filled the room. Hermione sighed and bent down to heave him back up and blop him back into it. Nowadays the man barely weighed anything to her. She was rapidly outstripping even the most dedicated of weightlifters at the private little gym she went to. 

“Merlin’s saggy ball sacks. How could you do this to me Miney?” The gobsmacked redhead eventually shouted back, spittle flying. 

“Do this to you?! Fucking what hell, you git?!” Hermione screeched, pleased at the wince she incurred from the still slightly hungover man. He was just screwing himself up to no doubt bellow at her, but she decided to cut him the fuck off. 

“We talked about this months ago at the Burrow! You agreed, several times, even told your mum _all_ about it at Christmas. Bloody hell, you’re the one that’s always been pestering me to let you ditch the condoms! I thought this was what you wanted?” Hermione said, her angry growl trailing off at the renewed thunder in her husband’s expression. 

“Don’t be so stupid Miney, that was all just to get Mum off me back. She’s always riding me, ya see. I had to!” Ron whined back. 

Which, bloody _whatever_.

“Oh fuck off. I even told you I was stopping the potion when we agreed to ditch the condoms. What the bloomin hell did ya think would happen?” The witch barked back, to Ron’s ever increasing glare.

“Miney, Miney. You know me and you know better than to ask me a question like that when I’m horny. Big soldier doesn’t know what he’s saying when he gets all worked up. It’s not my fault!” He said, moaning like a distressed toddler. 

Fucking _hell_ Hermione was so _tired_ of this shit. After over a decade of fighting, bickering and making up with Ron, she was rapidly losing the will to care. Did he have to be so bloody stubborn and defensive about every single thing? Was this really her fault? Should she have kept asking him again and again? After all, she suspected he wasn’t really as engaged with the idea as she was. She just thought it was standard “emotional range of a teaspoon” Ron drama though. 

And fuck it, she really did want a family. She may never have gotten her parents back (the memory charm was too bloody inexperience and shoddy to ever really fix) but she could make a life for herself. She wanted to be _happy_ again. To have one pure, happy, rewarding thing again. For one moment after seeing the positive test result she had been incandescently happy, but now…

Now it was just another fucking situation where Hermione had to manage the fallout in their marriage. 

“Even if that shite were true, which it _isn’t_ that wouldn’t help us _now._ Where the hell do we go from here?” Hermione said back, slumping back into her seat in exhaustion. 

“What the fuck do you think you daft bitch? Things are just starting to go properly at work. I’m just starting to get the respect and responsibility I deserve. I don’t need any fucking _parasites_ mucking that up for me. Figure it the fuck out.” Ron growled angrily, flecks of spittle flying across the table to spatter near Hermione. 

All the while the witch felt her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Was it really so much to ask for? To want out of life? Could she not just have this one thing? She’d never been expecting Ron to be the best or most involved father. She was under no illusions he’d be like Jon Granger and make time to read their kids bedtime stories, or like Mary Granger who’d always had a book and a cuppa ready when Hermione was feeling sad. She could deal with that. Was fully expecting to do most of the work herself, just like so much else in this marriage. She already did most of the cooking (when they hadn’t already ate out at work, which was often) all of the cleaning and the wash. What’s one more responsibility?

Hermione cringed under his stare. She still wanted to keep it. 

“Would it really be that much of an imposition? You may have checked out of the conversation, but knowing us I’d be doing most of the work myself. It can’t be that big of a deal, couldn’t you just let me have this?” The witch asked, hating the pathetic tremor in her voice. Hating the way she flinched when he slammed his fists on the table in front of her. Hating the way she sank back when he flew out of his seat to shout in her face. 

She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t. Auror training or no, she had more than a foot on him, and was more than twice as strong and in shape as him. Heck, despite being an academic she still went out to dueling clubs fairly regularly, just to keep her skills in shape. Even if she might not be quite auror material, she knew she could take him, if it came down to it. 

If she was willing to fight back at least.Which was in still in question. 

“It’s not about the brat, it’s about the bloody image you idiot! I have a kid it’ll go in all the papers and everyone will want a photo of the stupid happy couple. All of a sudden my image and availability will be dumpstered by a stupid brat and a freak bitch for a wife.” Ron shouted into Hermione’s face. She wrinkled her nose and cringed back. The combined effect of his bluster and terrible morning breath (seriously did he not brush his teeth post hangover?) was seriously disgusting. 

Not to mention the fucking dripping disgust in his tone. 

“Oh, is that the bloody problem then? Worried you won’t be getting your dick wet with the girls I _totally_ have no idea you run around with every weekend? Are you so embarrassed of me now that I’m not the prettiest most famous girl at the victory ball? Grow the fuck up Ron.” Hermione managed to shout back once she’d marshalled sufficient outrage at him. 

Ron straight up snarled and turned away to slam a fist against the bloody wall. 

“Who’d fucking blame me? Seriously, what have you been bloody eating? Getting fat like that ain’t bloody normal you cow. Your just lucky I still put up with you. Who in their right mind would want a piece of _that._ If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a bloody giant!” The redhead continued to rant, condescension dripping from his words. The whole time has hands were waving and gesturing between them in the most silly exaggerate fashion and...

Fuck, if all that didn’t piss Hermione right off. Probably worse than she’d been in years. It was all she could to stop herself from wrapping her hands around the man child's throat and bloody wringing his neck. She wasn’t an immature toddler however, so she wasn’t going to do it. De-escalation was a thing she hadn’t quite learned in school, but she’d picked it up over the years in the professional world. Unlike _some_ people. 

Instead she just took a deep breath and let herself shatter, just enough to finally make the break she realized she desperately needed to. Had desperately needed, she guessed, for more than a while. It...wasn’t as much of a shock to her as she thought it should be. Mostly, she just felt numb, tired and so utterly fucking _done_ with this shit. 

“Fine then. I’m keeping it and I’ll bloody handle it all on my own. Divorce papers will be in your mailbox by Monday. That way you won’t have to deal with the horrendous imposition of a _freak_ wife and _parasite._ Goodbye Ron. ” The brunette witch hissed, sweeping up out of her chair and striding purposefully from the room. 

This was the right decision, absolutely. Hermione viciously pretended that her voice didn’t warble and her eyes weren’t misty as she escaped to the front closet. After all, somewhere around here she still had the old extended cloth bag the trio had used to store all their supplies when they were horcrux hunting. Once she’d grabbed it, it was a quick job to dash into the bedroom and wave her wand to summon the racks of clothes in her closet into one of the bag’s compartments. 

“Oi, don’t be so bloody dramatic! Get back here and think it through for a second. Think of the scandal it would cause. Do you have any idea of what that would do to me, to be divorced with a bastard on the way!” She heard Ron shouting from over her shoulder in the doorway. 

“Not my problem.” Hermione huffed, scoffing. With an annoyed grumble she turned around. He was standing there, blocking the doorway and glaring at her in all his puffed up glory. 

Fuck him. 

With a grunt she simply barrelled towards the redhead and elbowed her way past him. She may have knocked into him with a bit more force than was strictly necessary on her way past, but she wasn’t going to sit there and just listen to even more of his vitriol. She didn’t give a flying fuck if he winced and rubbed his shoulder after he tried to box her into their bedroom. 

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me! Come back here cunt! You will _respect_ me!” Ron shouted from behind her as Hermione paused by the entryway. Hermione ignored him to the best of her abilities, slipping on her leather jacket and boots with trembling hands. There was a clatter as Ron quickly ducked back into the living room that Hermione ignored. The question of course was where to go from here. Harry might be an option, but he and Ginny were so busy these days with Albus, it wouldn’t be fair to impose. Not to mention the awkwardness of Weasley drama hiding out with another of the family would bring. 

Which, she guessed, left Draco. It was a little sad that he was one of her only real remaining friends, but she was sure he’d have space. The posh git (and adorable, supportive, lovely sarcastic human being) had officially moved back into Malfoy manor after living on his own for awhile. Even renovated it recently as he’d been telling her a few weeks ago. He’d definitely have a room or three to spare while she figured out where to go from here. The question was whether to apparate directly there and intrude, or maybe send an owl ahead of her? After all, wouldn’t it be rude to just drop in on him out of the blue? Yes, that sounded reasonable she decided as she cracked to door head out of the fla-

“Get back here bitch! Stupefy!” Shouted Ron as he shot a dark red stunning spell right at her chest. 

Hermione’s eyes widened and snapped to the fuming redhead down the hall in that confused half second before the spell crashed into her chest. Pain bloomed across her front and shoulders as the brunette found herself crashing backwards into the wall. A headache burst into life as she found her head snapping back and cracking _through_ the drywall and into a wooden stud. 

She was a little confused though, as she watched the red light light _ricochet_ back and punch a wide hole in one of the side walls. Something which should very much _not_ happen when a stunning spell was so horrendously overcast and overpowered. At best she should be an unconscious pile of limbs on the floor. More likely she should _also_ have a cracked rib or three. Ron seemed to have the same problem, as he was gaping at her with his mouth hanging wide open in horror. 

Well, never look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Expelliarmus.” She whispered, flicking her wand in an incredibly tight spiral designed to give duelling opponents the minimum amount of information to react with. Caught on the back foot and surprised, the spell slammed into Ron and his wand was ripped out of his hand to neatly land in Hermione’s grip. 

The barest twitch of her fingers snapped the magical focus into a useless pile of timber. One which she dropped to the floor with a sneer.

Then, without a word she turned on her heel and apparrated directly to Malfoy manor.


	2. A Spot of Tea and Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione lands at Malfoy manner after her blowout fight with Ron. 
> 
> Draco imitates a mother hen. Cissa and Andy are the adults in the room. 
> 
> Bella plots a murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Friends! I wrote a thing! I sorta imploded and burnt out my writing energy a few months ago leading up to my PhD proposal defense. I've been feeling a bit better and poking my head back into some of my stories. There may be updates coming for some other ones, but I'm not committing yet ;)

* * *

All things considered, attempting to apparate immediately after getting blasted by an incredibly powerful stunner was...not necessarily Hermione’s smartest idea. At the best of times apparition was an inexact art that was discombobulating, dizzying and all sorts of other synonyms for nauseating. So, it should come as no surprise that rather than gracefully dropping in on the Malfoy’s, Hermione instead ended up tripping and crashing to the ground in a groaning heap.

At least it didn’t seem like she was in particularly _more_ pain than she had already been. Splinching herself like an amateur school aged wizard would have been _beyond_ embarrassing now that she was a well respected witch in the department of mysteries. 

Still, she felt herself blushing a bit as she slowly and painfully pushed herself up, first to her knees then to her feet. A wave of vertigo rushed to her head, causing her to sway dangerously back and forth and grit her teeth. It took far too much effort to take a few shakey steps forward so she could brace herself up by leaning on the ornate metal gate at the door to Malfoy manor. Blinking dumbly she realized there was a house-elf on the other side trying to speak to her. Not that she could understand it beyond agitated distorted squeaks. 

Why were her ears ringing so much again?

Oh right, bloody Ron. 

“Hey, uh, could you get Dray if he’s around, it’s a bit of an emergency.” The brunette slowly asked, the words feeling like marbles in her mouth. She heard a soft squeak, and a pop as the elf disappeared. 

Hermione grimaced, hoping that the little fellow actually heard and understood what she was asking. Given the...events that happened there in the past, Hermione and Draco hadn’t hung around the manor too often. While she made a point to get to know the elves serving them, she wasn’t particularly familiar with many of the dozens of elves still living with the Malfoy’s (that were under substantially more regulated contracts now that she’d befriended Draco, thank you very much). Regardless, she knew he’d at least bring the confused woman at the door to the ponce’s attention. After all, how many times in a given week do injured visitors show up at the door to one of the most notorious estates in wizarding britain. 

That was around the moment she noticed a gross, wet, sticky feeling spreading it’s way down the side of her head. Raising a hand to poke at the area rewarded her with an incredibly sharp wince of pain, matted brunette curls and red stained fingers. 

Fuck. Maybe she should have gone to a hospital instead? 

“Merlin Herms, what the fuck happened to you? You look like you fought a couple rounds with a bloody hippogriff.” Came a shout from a certain blonde haired posh git running his way down the lawn. A silly grin spread across her face when she noticed the rather rumpled state of his fancy dark emerald dressing gown. The silly, over protective boy had probably just heard the words “Hermione” and “hurt” and decided to run out across the lawn without a second thought. Entirely forgetting all the little things. 

You know, like putting on shoes beyond house slippers, throwing on actual clothes, drying his hair after a shower, or, you know, covering up the bite marks on his neck. 

A giggle bubbled up in the back of her throat at the thought. Seems like the little totally-not-a-date thing Draco had planned with Blaise after their lunch went pretty well then. Good. Hermione was happy for him. Even as she felt a bit bad for possibly interrupting what was sure to have been a bloody good shag, or at least the afterglow to such. 

“Well, I’m bloody waiting. What did you do this time to get yourself bashed about? I swear you’re going to give me grey hairs before I’m 30 woman.” Draco said with a huff, glaring at her from . Suddenly much closer than Hermione was expecting him to be. She started in confusion, not quite realizing how much she was zoning out. Draco had somehow even managed to pop the gate open and come around to stare her in the eye without her noticing. 

“Ron. I told him I’m pregnant.” She growled before her addled brain could catch up with her far too loose lips.

Oh dear. That rapidly increasing angry flush on her best friends face was so _not_ a good sign. Fuck. Shoulda maybe eased into that one. Somehow. 

“The bloody Weasel!!! I’ll kill him!” Draco shouted, looking just a few steps away from having a truly destructive conniption. His wand had found its way to his fingers, which were twitching in a decidedly threatening way. Like he was itching to apparate back to her apartment and have _words_ with her husband. 

Magic words and curses were still technically words after all. Just with substantially more screaming and burning after all. 

Which, now that she thought about it, wasn’t even that unlikely at this point. While Draco had managed to bury the hatchet with her and Harry eventually, Draco and Ron’s rivalry had, if anything, gotten even worse as they aged. Especially since Draco was far, far too smart and good at reading people. He was well versed in catching all the quiet little things Hermione left unsaid when she talked (or didn’t talk) about how their relationship was going. Caught the little white lies Hermione knew had been the only things keeping her marriage going. Even the ones Hermione was probably telling herself to get through the day (and Draco was gracious enough not to call her on). A fact that had Draco, ever the protective bloodhound, fully on alert around the redhead. 

The blonde had grown up with his monster of a father after all. He was well versed in sniffing out marital strife, and perhaps even a bit oversensitive around the issue. 

Hermione’s head throbbed with a particularly bad ache. She found herself swaying and promptly tripped over her own feet. With a squak she felt herself slip through the buzzing magic of the wards and fall on her ass. Looking up she saw the blonde had snapped out of his ranting to stare at her, mouth falling open in shock. 

“Sorry, Dray. Dizzy.” Hermione slurred out, blushing a deep crimson. Apparently that was enough of a sign to get his head out of his ass and turn righteous vengeance to ferocious mother henning. 

“Sweet Circe. Herms come on, let's get you up on your feet. Mother and Aunt Andy are just in the drawing room. They’ve both got healer’s licenses and will get you cleaned right up. No fuss or muss from St. Mungo’s.” The blonde grumbled with a worried and knowing look on his face. Which...fair. One third of the golden trio showing up to the hospital as a battered spouse would be splashed all over the Prophet by morning. 

Quickly he darted forward to grab one of Hermione’s hands and pull her up to her feet. Despite her having more than a head and a fair few pounds (of muscle god dammit!) on him, Draco managed to only give a brief, though pained, groan. Then again, she still had enough of her wits about herself to at least do most of the work herself. Really, she was just a bit dizzy. She was fine. Totally fine. The way Draco kept worriedly glancing at her and clucking under his breath was totally over the top. 

It was fine. Totally fine. She’d had worse and more dozens of times when they were kids.

It _was_ pretty helpful however to have something to support herself as she drug herself across the far, far too large lawn. Even if Draco was mostly just acting as a particularly grumbly moving wall for her to lean on. On the other hand, the problem was largely self constructed. After all, the bloody rich bastards who made the damn manor apparently needed bloody grazing fields for the freaking flock of albino peacocks they somehow managed to maintain throughout the war. Several members of which were circling and staring at her creepily, like vultures spotting a particularly lovely piece of roadkill.

She growled at them. Deep and low, like stones rumbling under rapids along a riverbank. 

They squaked and darted off in a cloud of panicked feathers. Hermione huffed smugly, and pointedly ignored the grudgingly amused look Draco was sending her. Bloody sadistic birds. Always pecking after her hair in the worst of moments. Probably looking to drink her blood and bathe in it. One couldn’t imagine hell until one had been stumbling home, drunk off their ass and set upon by a flock of the vicious beasts. 

She’d always wondered why Narcissa kept them after everything. Even after Lucius was sent to prison and given the kiss. 

“Dray?” Hermione said, after a thought occurred to her. 

He merely huffed at her, apparently still annoyed at the scrape she’d gotten herself into. 

“Didn’t you say something about some important meeting Narcissa was having today? Should we be interrup-” Hermione started saying, feeling a wave of anxious nerves building up.

“Herms, I swear to fucking _merlin_ if you suggest delaying important medical care due to self sacrificing Gryff bullshite about politeness and fairness I will bloody hex you. Mother and her estranged sister’s are just meeting to start burying the hatchet. They’ve waited three bloody decades already, they can wait another 20 minutes to make sure you don’t bleed out as far as I’m concerned.” Draco explained rather grumpily as they found their way into the manor. He was huffing and red in the face, not entirely from exertion.

“Awwww, Dray, you care!” Hermione teased, letting out a small giggle. One that only got bigger when his only response was a faux glare and a whispered curse.

The git was such a softy these days after all. It was cute. 

It was only a few moments later that Hermione realized they’d found themselves outside of a rich oak door she knew held a sitting room. One which Draco wasted no time in rapping on anxiously before ignoring common courtesy and just bursting right in. 

“Draco! Where are your manners!” Shouted out an aggrieved yet still lyrical voice from the blonde’s mother. Hermione looked up as the shout was followed with a tremendous rattle. Only to see several bodies had jerked in surprise, jangling the full, extravagant high-tea set on a coffee table surrounded by a series of high chairs. 

Glancing around she saw two heads covered in long curly black locks sitting in a small circle around a wooden coffee table with Narcissa. One, of course, belonged to the ever beautiful and stately Andromeda, clad in a long deep red robe. Hermione felt herself smiling, the older woman was always such a great gran to Teddy after all, and she was glad that she and Narcissa had started to move past whatever had come between them. She deserved family again after losing her husband and daughter in the last war after all. 

The other head, that was more of a mystery. Draco had been...well not evasive per say, but certainly cagey about his Aunt Bellatrix in the lead up to this meeting. The most she could ever really get out of him was that there was some sort of scandal that was fervently hushed up back when she was in school. While it wasn’t quite legally binding, the oldest Black sister had effectively been disowned and exiled to France several decades ago. As a result the older pureblooded woman had largely been untouched by the wars, but there was still some sort of bad blood between the three sisters. The last couple of times Narcissa had invited her over to dinner her expression had been wistful yet pained whenever she’d talked about either sister. The whole affair seemed to hang like a cloud over the normally so composed woman. 

Hermione is not sure what exactly she was expecting from the mysterious figure, but the gorgeously vibrant woman a few steps away certainly wasn’t it. The expensive black gown and shiny black leather corset weren’t entirely a surprise. Bellatrix was supposed to be somewhat of an eccentric after all. Plus, corsets were typical pureblood wear, even if they usually worse them on the _inside_ of their bloody robes instead of hanging out for all to see like a fetish model. Likewise the scarlet lips and dark eye shadow could just be part of a peculiar (and surprisingly eye catching) sense of style.

No, what confused Hermione was how incredibly _young_ the woman looked. There was not a single wrinkle, gray hair or bloody flap of skin anywhere on her sleek body. Nor on her high cheekbones, sharp enough to cut glass. Nor around the all-consuming dark eyes drawing Hermione ever deeper and stealing the very breath from her lungs. It was honestly a little nerve wracking. Like she was watching a greek statue that had just decided that it was bored of sitting around all day looking sublime and had simply decided to start wandering about. 

...her inner geek absolutely did not giggle at the accompanying thought of Bellatrix the weeping angel. 

Though, maybe she should keep an eye on her. You know, just in case. It’s not like she wasn’t easy on the eyes anyway.

...that thought was promptly stuffed down the ole memory hole. 

Still, she was a little stumped. Sure, the Blacks aged gracefully. Narcissa was practically the poster picture of the phrase “well-preserved” after all. Even still, both Andromeda and Narcissa had their share of subtle crows feet, beauty marks and scars. Marks of survival through hard times of stress and pain. Things that, far from seeming ugly or unattractive, were oddly fitting of the strength of character both women exuded. The Blacks had a charisma, a form of magnetism that just defied traditional standards of beauty and class. You just couldn’t drag your eyes from them, nor could you be so crass as to describe them as “old.”

Bellatrix though. If Hermione didn’t know any better, if you’d forced her to put a number to it, well she’d have said that Bellatrix was just barely out of Hogwarts. It was...eerie.

Hermione’s gawking stare was cut short by a pair of strong arms grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around. High alarmed voices sounded around her, though she had trouble focusing on them, still focused on keeping her eyes on Bellatrix. The arms on her shoulders grazed down to her chest and pushed her backwards. A step, then two, before she felt an edge at the back of her knees. Another insistent push on her chest saw Hermoine tripping backwards and into a soft-cushioned high back chair. 

...That ringing in her ears really was quite annoying, wasn’t it. 

Her attention was finally grabbed by a series of loud snaps right in front of her face. It took a second, but eventually her vision snapped from trying to find Bellatrix again to the concerned look of Andromeda kneeling by the chair.

“Hi love, are you with us now dear?” The older woman asked softly, worry clear across her features. Hermione gave a brief nod, but winced when the motion sent a throb of pain through her skull. 

“Good, good, now Hermione-” Andromeda began, pausing just briefly to wave her wand towards a coffee table that had been pulled up alongside the chair. Hermione saw a piece of paper and auto dictation quill being conjured. She’d just read a bit of the heading (something something “-Healer’s Evidentiary Report on-” something something) when Andromeda snapped her fingers again, grabbing Hermione’s attention.

“There’s a good girl. Keep focusing on me please. Now come on, could you tell us what happened today while I patch you up a bit?” The older healer ordered gently even as she flicked her wand through what Hermione vaguely realized was some sort of diagnostic charm. Another sheet of paper in-front of Andromeda, causing the woman’s frown to turn confused. Another flick and a third piece of paper appeared. The confused frown turned into a brief wide-eyed flash before Andromeda started cursing a blue-streak up and down. 

...Well, that’s not very good isn’t it?

How bloody hard did Ron’s spell hit her anyway?

Soft hands came from behind the chair with a damp cloth to gently start cleaning the blood out of her hair. Hermione briefly glanced up to take in Narcissa’s focused and concerned face doing the careful work. Shortly afterwards she started to feel the unmistakable prickly tingle of healing magic sinking into her scalp and glanced back to Andromeda. The mage had a strange...slick feel to it? Almost feeling like oil, unable to mix with water as it cascaded over her skin. Andromeda’s expression appeared to be even more worried than before, which, well, wasn’t that confusing…

Oh, right, she was supposed to respond to something right? They were probably concerned about the whole mute, concussed and confused act she had going on. 

“Um - I uh… Ron you see…” Hermoine began before trailing off awkwardly. Really, it was all just so silly isn’t it, how out of control a simple argument got. It was fine right? They were...getting divorced and this would all be a thing of the past. Nothing to stress about digging up again. 

“Oh right, right, not bloody enough for him to be shouting at and deriding you all the bloody time. Now the bloody weasel’s graduate to bloody beating up his bloody pregnant wife the bloody prick!” Came a shout from her severely agitated best friend. 

Hermione winced, cringing into herself. That was absolutely not fair and not true...even if a sad little corner of Hermione’s mind felt the hit land just a little too close to home. 

“Draco! This is not helping. You will sit down and be quiet or I’ll throw you out the door on your ass.” Narcissa softly hissed from behind Hermione. Hermione shivered, knowing the strength of the sure to be _venomous_ glare the noble was giving him with that tone. She felt a bit bad for Draco, this whole thing was bound to be bringing up a whole _host_ of carefully packed away baggage for him. She just hoped he didn’t turn to the bottle again, like the last time he was reminded of his father’s...tender mercies. 

“Hermione, sorry about that, would you mind continuing? Tell us everything, what happened from start to finish please. As detailed as you can dear.” Andromeda prompted again.

“Okay, um, I guess I’d start at lunch. Draco and I had brunch to celebrate the w-wee one coming. We, uh, left, him for a date with Blaise and I went...I went home. To, you know….” Hermione started, trailing off as her eyes itched to start watering. An outcome she firmly fought away, and blamed entirely on pregnancy hormones. She took a deep breath in and out to steady herself before continuing. 

“To tell R-Ron I was p-pregnant.” Hermione stuttered out nervously, before rushing to continue. 

“You see, we’d been trying for awhile, but it was a bit of a surprise. I’d told him ages ago I was going off the potion and, and he’d never like condoms. People had been bugging us about grandchildren for awhile and fuck, I thought we were on the same page. I just...I wanted to start a family, and I don’t know, maybe the wires got crossed somewhere and we miscommunicated or something. Really, it was probably my fault and, and…” Hermione rambled out in one long panicked gush. Dear merlin this was hard, how did this all go so pear shaped in one stupid afternoon. How could she have fucked up so very badly? 

“Hermione breath. There’s no judgement here, we’re just trying to understand what happened, not assign blame or judgement or anything. You went home to Ron to tell him you were pregnant, what happened then.” Came the suspiciously calm voice of Andromeda. It was a tone Hermione had rarely seen the older witch adopt. Tight as a coiled spring, just waiting to explode. She was usually so warm and happy around Teddy, which was really the only time they interacted these days. 

“Well, he was, uh, asleep on the couch-” Hermione began. 

“More likely passed out drunk.” Grumbled Draco, which...ow. Hermione winced again in response to the far too close to home observation.

“-with a half-empty bottle of ogden’s finest beside him I admit.” Hermione continued, cutting off Narcissa’s sure to be scathing hiss before it could get started. “I, uh, woke him up and got him in the shower. Made a nice english breakfast and got him a hangover potion so we could talk without him biting my head off.” The brunette witch explained, grimacing. 

“Does this happen often, Hermione? Finding him passed out drunk?” Narcissa asked, a surprised and alarmed hint in her voice. 

“Well, not often, but you know like… Well, after all the ministry balls and fundraisers and such. Well, and when he goes out to the pub with the other aurors, which is maybe every week or two? It depends. Plus occasionally he’ll get into it when he has some friends over to play poker when I’m out for work or out for dinner with Draco or Harry. Other than that, he usually only has a beer or two with dinner. So, you know, it’s pretty rare.” Hermione explained, defending her husband...well, soon to be ex-husband. It was fine. He had his drinking under control you know. Not like Hermione who spiraled so bad she woke up in the hospital once or twice. Well, sure, Hermione may have pumped his stomach here and there, but it was fine. Bad days happen. 

...or so that whiny little voice in her brain that sounded a lot like a certain ginger was keen to remind her. As he had often told her these last few years. 

Narcissa huffed in that “totally not judging you, but totally actually judging you” way she did in response to her thoughtful and eloquent argument about why Ron’s drinking habits weren’t that bad. I mean honestly, they just needed to have another chat or two and she probably could have gotten them fixed up, y’know? Every couple has issues after all. Nobody is perfect.

“What happened after you’d gotten the prat sobered up?” Draco grumbled moodily from across the room. 

“Well, I uh. Told him I was pregnant. H-he...didn’t react altogether too well.” The brunette witch managed to choke out through a tightening throat. Dear merlin, she did not want to think about things any further. She felt, rather than saw herself start to shiver, jittery with anxiety. She curled in on herself, pushing further into the chair. A low whine was heard in the air, which, she belatedly realized, was coming from her. 

“Care to expand on that love?” A surprisingly sultry voice spoke next, right beside Hermione. It’s tone was soft and low, drawing Hermione in. Hermione looked over to a much closer Bellatrix, looking at her with those incredibly warm dark eyes. The witch felt herself suppressing a blush as a strange warm tingle went down her spine. Everything slowed down for a few seconds as Hermione took a few deep breaths. She revelled in the surprisingly calming scent of...iron maybe? Covered up with expensive perfume gracefully clinging to the dark witch. 

Then, like a dam bursting, it was suddenly so much bloody _easier_ to keep going. The most wonderful feeling of...heat and safety blew through her. Smothering the shakes and anxiety to somewhere deep inside Hermione. Still there, but distant and muted for the moment. It let Hermione’s sheer bloody wrath underneath it all bubble up like a heated stone dropped in a bucket of water 

“That...that bloody impossible man! He started shouting at me! Accusing me of such utter bloody shite! That I was doing this to _him._ That it was my bloody _fault_ he knocked me up. That I should have been reminding him constantly about it. Like he didn’t bloody have any responsibility over his cunting prick. Just like all those times before where he just magically happens to slip and fall into bed with all those auror trainees and interns he has over. You the ones I pretend not to know about.” Hermione growled, seething into the sharpening gaze of Bellatrix. The witch saw something...hot and _raw_ there, slowly kindling. Bellatrix smirked, showing off just a hint of sharp white teeth.

The shiver running up and down Hermione’s spine ran lower at the sight. Especially as those luscious red lips surrounding the sharp fangs pursed. Still, the anger was still pumping through her blood and her hands clamped down into the chair’s armrests furiously. A low groan of overstressed wood sounded, though Hermione ignored it pointedly. 

“So, I tell him, well, regardless of whose fault it is, we need to move forward. After all, I’m poor, practical Hermione. I’m the one always left picking up the bag after all his stupid mistakes. You know what he fucking says to me. He fucking says the baby is a bloody parasite we need to get fucking rid of it. The fucking prick.” Hermione raged, fully shouting now and ignoring the harsh intakes of breath behind her. 

“You know fucking what.” Hermione grumbled, barrling straight ahead. “I’ve dealt with so bloody much for that man. I fought a dark lord with him, I kept the house running for him even though we both bloody work. I let him sow all his stupid wild oats, supported him at work time and time again. Picked up after his drunk ass caused scandal after scandal. But killing my shot at a family for him? Fuck. Him. Fuck. That. Fuck. No.” The witch continued shouting, even as she felt herself slowly running out of steam. 

Fuck. She was just so _tired_ of all this shite. 

“I told him I was keeping it. Said if he didn’t want the responsibility I wouldn’t make him. I got up. Grabbed my things out of the bedroom dresser and told him the divorce papers would be in the mail. He shouted some more, and _ordered_ me to stay. I refused.” Hermione said, voice cracking once more as exhaustion seeped into her very bones. 

“It happened so fast after that I guess. He tried to block me into the bedroom but I pushed around him. I was...I was just putting on my coat and thinking of where to go when he grabbed his w-wand.” Hermione explained, feeling her eyes sting again. Merlin, had it really gone so far?

“The prick blasted me with the most fucking overpowered stunner I’ve seen in years. Bashed me into the wall and through the drywall. I hit my head on a stud or something I think. I should probably be sitting in a puddle of my own broken bones or something right now.” Hermione said, frowning down at her lap now in confusion. It was the strangest thing, almost like back in the war when Hagr-

No, that’s not possible. 

“Weirdest thing though, the stunner almost seemed to...bounce off me or something. Punched a great bloody hole through the wall even after hitting me. I uh, decided to get out before he could do anything else stupid. He was gawping at me so I cast a quick disarm spell and snapped his wand just to make sure he couldn’t come after me. Apparated out and straight here the second I could. After all, it’s not exactly like I’d be welcome at the Burrow right about now. Met Draco at the gates and now we’re here.” Hermione finally finished explaining, slumping backwards in her seat as she let the exhaustion creep over her. Her eyelids slipped closed as she felt unconsciousness nipping at her mind. 

There was a titter of hushed yet angry voices around her. She was past really caring at this point, but she did catch a few words or two before Morpheus claimed her. 

“-fucking prick-” from Draco

“-bad concussion but I could help enough to-” From Andy

“-I’ll call the solicitor-” From Narcissa.

But what really put a smile on her face was that soft, sultry, _dark_ voice purring practically in her ear. 

“Now, who wants to help me plan a murder? No? Tragic Accident? What? Don’t look at me like that Cissa. This is just what I do!”


End file.
